lost in translation
by kissinginparis
Summary: the foggy transition between childhood and adulthood is always a mess. it'll take a few scars, some broken hearts and a million different people before you've finally made it across the bridge.


The bridge was the epitome of serene. From the looks of it, it was untouched. The water below glistened in the early morning darkness that swallowed it up, except for the twinkling light from the moon, casting a scatter of glitter across it.

Seconds later, a speeding truck disturbed the picturesque scene, and the music thumping from inside was loud enough to send the water shaking. Puffs of smoke and laughter were billowing out from the windows and the adulterated words of the passengers within, tainted the perfection.

"_What is this_? It tastes like shit," the passenger of the truck said, coughing violently and then placing a leather jacket clad arm in front of his face. He reached forward and grabbed a bottle of beer to send the bitter taste away.

"Had to change dealers," the driver said, swigging back another bottle of the same brown liquid. "Danny didn't want provide for me anymore." He said, shrugging."He's always been a complete dick."

"You're a tool man - you _did_ hook up with his girl." The passenger stated, and then eyed the roll he had in his hand bitterly, "and now I have to deal with the effects of it."

"Fuck you Derrick, you're supposed to be my friend, who's supposed to be on my side of this. I already got one black eye enough." The driver muttered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, his bloodshot eyes squinting and un-squinting slightly as he lost focus. Derrick Harrington rolled his eyes and leaned his head back on the head rest, eying his best friend Brady with a look of utter annoyance.

"Sometimes you're a real fuck up." He mumbled, closing his eyes, before lifting the roll to his lips again. He coughed once more as he let the taste settle in his mouth and his lungs adjust to the new drugs, the coughing stopping. He licked his lips again and then leaned forward to turn the music louder - Arctic Monkeys blaring through his speakers.

"You know, I'm thinking we move out." Brady said, looking to Derrick for a moment, before looking back to the road. Derrick snorted.

"Yeah, maybe if we stopped spending money on drugs and alcohol and we save up all the change in our piggy banks, we can afford it. We're only seventeen man, what do you want?" He pulled his beanie down more over his head and his caramel eyes stared out the window.

"My parents are starting to get annoying, asking about college and shit, they're telling me that community college won't cut it, they're saying they won't pay. My mom told me I have to transfer at the end of this year - end of the coming semester if I must. Keep bringing up how you got into to some decent places."

Derrick stayed silent. He'd been living with the Eriksons for the past two years and they seemed perfectly fine, a hell of a lot nicer than what he'd left behind, that was for sure. Brady though, was a handful and the fact that they'd even let Derrick stay with them said a lot about their character. They were already struggling for money, and taking care of two spendthrift teenage boys who had no hopes for the future must have been difficult to begin with. But this was the summer before college, and like any parents, they hoped their child would turn over a new leaf - maybe make something of himself, but Brady was proving that to be all too far fetched.

"Besides, I'm already eighteen shitface, in case you've forgotten." Brady turned to Derrick again and took one hand off the wheel in order to skid Derrick's face with his knuckles, pretending to punch him, but the truck stumbled over a bump and Brady lost control of the car. Derrick's eyes flashed with horror as they hit the only other car on the road.

"Brady!" Derrick yelled, raising a hand to cover his face. Brady pulled the car back to the other side and brought it to an immediate stop and Derrick was sent jolting forward. When the truck settled, he touched his neck before impulsively kicking the door open and running to the other side of the street. He peered inside the glass window of an old model of a BMW. Inside was a middle-aged man who was bleeding from his head and the dent in his car look unrepairable.

He felt around for his pockets, his head buzzing from the alcohol and the prospect of the trouble he and Brady had gotten themselves into. He felt a trickle of hot liquid from somewhere on his face and knew that it was no doubt blood. Brady hopped out of the truck and ran to Derrick, thrusting his phone into his hand

"H-hello?" Derrick stuttered into the phone, the police operator was of no help, "I-I'm calling from," he looked around for a sign but there wasn't one and at the current moment in time he couldn't think of the name of the bridge he crossed almost every day with Brady on their way from Chicago to the outskirts of the city. "Just, it doesn't matter, there's a man here and he's been hit and he's injured badly and I'm not sure how long he'll last. Just trace the call or something." He averted his eyes to Brady who was pulling at his hair and muttering 'shit, shit, shit' again and again.

Derrick hung up and threw his phone at Brady, but it ended up just skidding on the asphalt and laying dangerously close to the edge of the bridge - but that was the least of their worries. "What are we going to do?" Derrick asked, all toughness aside. They were caught in a drunk driving accident when they weren't even legally allowed to drink, covered in cocaine from their previous adventures in the city and with weed in their possession.

It was silent until Brady looked up at Derrick, his face looking completely haunting, "_Run_." He said, he licked his lips and came closer to Derrick, placing his hands on Derrick's shoulders. "Run Derrick, you weren't a part of this. I might - I might be able to get out of this, but your record is bad enough. Its better if only one of us ends up in jail. You have your whole life ahead of you. Run while you can - just get out of here." Derrick blinked and began to shake his head, "Get the fuck out." Brady said, his voice steady for the first time in the last five minutes.

Derrick opened his mouth to speak, but Brady pushed him forward and before he could even think about it, he was sprinting. He had no thoughts about where he was going, he was just running.

He looked back over his shoulder at Brady and continued to let his feet carry him. He couldn't believe that fifteen minutes ago, he was sitting in his best friend's truck and having a smoke, and now he was running from criminal charges.

There was only one place for him to go now.

* * *

Joshua Hotz pressed a cold hand to his face, his eyes squinted together as he stared at the goal post. His mind was buzzing with thoughts as he kicked ball after ball into the makeshift net before him, the night breeze whispering silently. One kick for his whore of a father, another kick for his mother never being around, kick three for his stupid bitch of a sister, another for his parents not being able to work things out, and a last one for his mother's idiotic idea to move as far away as possible and for his father not wanting for Josh to live with him in their old home. With a final kick of frustration, a ball soared through the net, tearing it from the tree branches it was hanging from and Josh slid to the grass floor.

Numbly, he reached out and blindly lifted a bottle of Corona to his lips, making a face at its cheap taste, before roughly setting it on the ground beside him. He heard a creak in the distance but ignored it, trying his best to memorize the looks of his backyard.

"Josh," someone mumbled - he ignored it. "Come inside please."

Again he ignored the sound of his mother's voice and looked to the bottle of alcohol next to him, instead of trying his best to keep it from her sight, he grunted at it and left it where it was, continuing to stare at the space where the net had once been.

"You can't continue to behave like this - things are happening whether you want them to or not." Giving up, he turned to his mother, hazel eyes ablaze.

"How would you know _anything_? Especially about behavior! You left _him_, not the other way around, and you chose to bring me into it. You've ruined everything." He got up and as a last ditch effort, kicked the glass bottle so it skidded across the grass of his estate's backyard, the toxic substance wildly spilling on the prim, cut grass.

"We're moving to New York Josh, and its about time you grasp the reality of it."

Marina Hotz's voice was only a mumble compared to the sound of the back door slamming loudly, the intricately designed glass on it quivering with the impact.

* * *

"So," he said, clearing his throat.

"So?" she replied.

They were both standing in front of an elevator and her eyes were searching his as they stood inches apart. Her fingers were clinched to his shirt and she waited for him to kiss her again, _but he didn't_. After a moment's pause, she leaned up and kissed him. He responded to the kiss but ended it briefly, although her forehead lingered close to his until the elevator door dinged open. She looked towards it and then to him.

"Call me?" She asked, he blinked in response.

"...sure," he said monotonously as she stepped inside and waved at him - it was an obvious lie.

"Bye Kemp," she said as the doors slid open.

"Bye."

The moment the doors collided together, he let out a deep breath and pushed a chunk of hair away from his face, whistling slightly and turning around and walking into the main room of his penthouse. He made his way to the kitchen and grabbed an apple, biting into it and winking at one of his old cooks who responded with an eyeroll.

He reminisced to himself about the previous night, what was the girl's name again? Colleen? Christine? Caroline?

Caroline. That was it...or was it Camillia? He shook his wavy locks and continued his walk to the living room. He was nearly surprised to see his father sitting there with two other men, binders laying out on the table and pens and laptops scattered in the usually neat living room. His father looked more stern than usual and he was leaning forward and speaking in a hushed tone.

"Hey there daddy-o." Kemp Hurley said, smiling brightly at his father. His father looked up and nodded.

"Son," his father said, before turning his attention back to the other businessmen who simply nodded at Kemp.

"Morning men," Kemp said politely, addressing his father's partners.

"Its actually one in the afternoon," one of them responded, annoyance shot through Kemp but he let it subside before smiling charmingly.

"So mid morning then?" The gentlemen stared at him and his father looked up and shot him a look.

"It was a joke," He clarified, his father sighed and sat up straighter, and Kemp tossed his apple in the air and caught it again and again, waiting for his father to speak.

"Why don't you go somewhere else for now Kemp? I have private business matters to deal with." Kemp simply walked away. His father was always one to keep to himself and keep Kemp completely out of things. It wasn't like Kemp would be taking over the business or anything - sarcasm of course. He turned into the hall and stared at the gray walls with the golden framed artwork. The oak lining of the spiraling steps and the marble slab floors, his mother had designed the penthouse with everything she had in her, yet she never found the time to be home. Kemp grunted to himself and bit his apple again, something clicking in his mind.

Private business matters? That always meant something bad, and Kemp had learned as a child that he was an amazing eavesdropper. He walked back to the room he'd left only moments before, but made himself unseen as he pressed his back against a wall, voices drifting.

"- the funds have been completely lost. There's nothing you can do at this point besides pull out your money from the Swiss accounts while you can and freeze all your regular accounts - sell this place if you must."

"-but my wife and my son-"

"-bankrupcy won't do you well, the company's already tanking, there's no use in trying to salvage what's left-"

"-declaration of bankrupy-"

Kemp swallowed hard, his breathing increased. _Bankrupt?_ This was the last thing that he ever thought would happen. His father had lost funds before but something as massive as this had never happened. His shallow breathing got the better of him and his apple fell to the floor rolling on the marble and landing on the rich camel fur carpet and thumping against his father's best Italian leather shoes.

"Bankrupt?" Kemp said, stepping out from his hiding spot.

* * *

The drip of the sink was all that could be heard. The entire household was in mourning. The water splattered on the steel sink's surface and broke a part and skid into the drain. No one bothered to turn it off, even the two hands that rested on the edges of the sink itself. A head was bowed close to the spout and if one looked close enough, you could see that tears were dripping too and swerving into the drainage pipe.

There were a lot of things in life that no one counted on happening - especially in Cam Fisher's life. Some were good and others were bad. Like recently he'd broken up with his longtime girlfriend, he'd also just gotten news that he'd been pushed up on the wait-list for Duke, although he'd injured his ankle and wouldn't be able to tryout for their soccer team in the fall. This news though- what had just happened -was the worst. It was nearly unbearable.

"Cam, honey, you have to eat." He heard his aunt murmur. He simply sniffled, and looked away in the opposite direction, a fresh faucet of tears seeping from his colored eyes. "Things like this, they can't be changed, starving yourself won't help." She continued. Cameron simply nodded in response, but made no effort to move.

The scene around them was disastrous. There were plates, utensils, bowls and cups lying washed and ready to be put away in a large pile, although it was gaining dust from the days of sitting there. There was trash piling up in the corner and empty cartons of milk, juice and other things were stacked on the counter's edge. Someone, no doubt his aunt, had tried and failed at tidying the place up, but it just made it seem even messier. His eyes averted to the stairs quickly, and he thought about going up to see his mother, but he quickly tore his gaze away and continued to stare into the sink's drain.

"Your father wouldn't have wanted this." The cliche line just made Cam sigh, but he shook his head. It was true, his father wouldn't have wanted this. But what did it matter what his father wanted? He was gone. Dead. Six feet under the ground. Cold as ice and rotting. He had been, for days.

His hero had been buried before his eyes and now he had to take his place. After all, his delinquent older brother would be of no use. He finally, wiped a tear away and looked over at the letter next to him, which was placed above a dozen articles about his father's death. It was an acceptance letter to Duke. Shaking his head, he reached for his phone and lifted it to his ear.

* * *

Chris Plovert touched the rings that had formed under his eyes. He rolled his shoulders back and pressed his face almost against his mirror. Something had changed about him and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

He took a deep breath in and shook his hair, rubbing a towel against it in order to somewhat dry it off. Drops of water splattered on the black marble floor beneath his feet and he curled his toes on the heated tiles. The Saturday afternoon light fought its way through the closed blinds and made Chris blink every few seconds.

Today he was registering for classes for college, which would be starting in approximately two weeks and he didn't really like the idea of it. The prospect of going to NYU wasn't as great as he'd imagined it to be. He did get to stay in New York like he'd wanted, but at the same time it was kind of boring. He was just going to end up in the same place, with the same people for the rest of his life.

He may have passed high school with flying colors, but it felt like he'd failed himself. He sighed and threw the towel to the floor, pulling a t-shirt over his boxers and pushing his door open into his room.

There were boxes scattered near his feet and he frowned. What would it take for things to change in his boring routine of a life?

* * *

_so what did you think? __this is going to be a more bromance-y fic. it'll focus on the friendship of derrick/cam/josh/kemp/chris.  
__review? & i'm currently working on the next chapter of _the dash.  
_xx_


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